Scared
by Magali1
Summary: Tim comes to terms with a new role in his life during a thunderstorm; part of an unposted multichapter fic turned into a one-shot. Tim POV. Oneshot.


**A/N:**This was a long fic that I had written awhile ago but never posted. I ended up turning it into a one-shot, with possibility to expand it back into a multichapter story. Kind of focusing on Tim and his issues with his father. So we'll see if I want to expand it back to a multichapter, but for now, this is a one-shot. Enjoy. :)

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**Scared**

In the distance, beyond the rumbling of thunder and the windows rattling, Tim heard the pitter-patter of little feet. He smiled into his pillow, waiting a beat. The rain and hail pelted the windows; it sounded occasionally like gunshots. It felt like the entire house was moving with each crack of thunder. A particularly close bolt of lightening lit up the room, illuminating the tiny shadow on the wall across from him. He shifted a bit under the covers, waiting.

A second later, there was a gentle tap on his shoulder. Ever so polite, he mused, turning slowly, hugging his pillow to him. "What's up?" he mumbled, opening his eyes to peer at the little boy in a Batman costume standing beside the bed. He smiled a little more. You changed into that after I put you to bed, didn't you?

Thunder cracked again, rumbling slowly away. Rain started pouring, but the way it pinged off the roof, he figured it was ice. They were supposed to get a storm, he supposed it was strange that the lightening and thunder were coming along with the ice. The sound of cracking thunder turned the boy into a vibrating wire, clutching his pillow, printed with various X-Men. "Can I sleep with you tonight?" he whispered.

"You scared of the storm?"

"Not scared," he protested. Another flash of lightning illuminating his face showed that he was in fact, terrified, his little dark eyes wide and lower lip trembling.

Sure, Tim thought, reaching his arms out and carefully lifting the four-year old into the bed with him; he glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Hell, it was barely midnight. This could go on until through the morning. The little boy dove beneath the covers when there was another flash of lightning, followed by a thunderclap. It sounded like cannons, he thought, enjoying the thunderstorm. They were always his favorite times of the year; not for some kids though, he thought, smiling at the lump beneath the dark blue comforter.

Lightning lit up the room, flashing off the silver frame of the three of them on the opposite nightstand. He smiled slightly at it, before he had to turn his complete attention to the little boy hiding out beneath the covers. He tapped lightly on his shoulder, the comforter lowering slightly to reveal the top of an auburn-head and dark eyes peering at him through the dimly lit room. He nodded towards the nightstand, whispering. "Do you want to make a fort?"

The eyes danced and he received a quick head-nod. One of the locks of auburn hair fell over the little boy's eyes. "Yeah," he whispered, crawling beneath the covers.

Yeah, he thought so too. The last thunderstorm they had, Tim had had to hide beneath covers for the better part of two hours, trying to come up with enough outrageous stories to occupy Max. His son, he thought idly, even if that word kind of made a chill run down his spine. He removed two flashlights from his nightstand; one was an actual flashlight and the other was the Bat-Signal light that Max had left behind during the last storm.

Max was already sitting beneath a sheet, like a little ghost, waiting. Tim lifted the sheet, tugging it over his head, which made it seem roomier, given his size compared to Max's. He passed him the Bat-Signal, smiling and flicking his flashlight on. "Boo."

The little boy giggled, waving his flashlight around on the walls of the 'fort.' Tim was about to say that there was nothing wrong with being scared, when another bolt of lightning lit up the walls, barely gone by the time a thunderclap shook the room. That was a close one, he thought, barely able to say '1000' before the thunder struck. Maybe that would calm him down, he thought, smiling again at Max. "Hey," he whispered, shaking his head slightly. "The lightning is far away Max…I'll show you…after the night lightning bolt, say '1000' and then wait a second and then say it again, and do that until the thunder, okay?"

"Why?"

"That tells you how far away it is."

"The lightning?"

Tim nodded, smiling. Hell, I might actually be able to help him with this fear. Sort of, he supposed, waiting for the lightning. There was another flash and Max said "1000…"

Thunder echoed. Max jumped a little, whispering. "What's that mean?"

"Means that lightning was 1000 feet away. In the sky. Where it can't hurt you."

"But lightning is electricity. It shocks you!"

How the hell does a four-year old know these things? It was probably his mother. She would make Max watch educational videos all day if it meant that she didn't have to switch them out with X-Men or superhero shows and movies. You had a boy, he'd remind her, and you had to put up with those sorts of things if he wanted them. As well as the constant need for…well, Tim figured it was just movement and action. Max didn't sit still very well.

Max's lower lip quivered again when thunder rumbled. Wind blew through the trees around the house and along the windowpanes, whistling and howling. Bad storm, Tim thought, but the rain was needed. It had been pretty dry the past couple months. He held the flashlight in front of his face, whispering. "Why are you scared the thunder, Max?"

He shrugged, whispering, the Bat-Signal wavering on the walls. "It's loud…and lightning can hurt you. I don't want to die."

That would seem…abnormal coming from most children, but Tim knew better, especially with Max. He wished that his mother were here. It would make this…easier. Hell, he had no idea how she wanted him to have this conversation with Max, if it ever came up. So he tried to remember what she'd tell him, when Max had fears of death. "You're a little boy," he whispered, shaking his head. "You're not going to die. You're safe." Safe in this house. Safe with me.

That's why you crawled in my bed at midnight when you were scared, right? Because you're safe with me. The thought kind of flipped Tim's stomach. It was a pretty big deal…doing this parenting thing. He bit at his bottom lip, thinking for a second, remembering something Billy told him when he was really little. Probably Max's age, come to think of it. He wasn't as scared of thunderstorms, because well…he had other things in his life to be scared of that Max didn't ever need to think about. "You know," Tim whispered, twirling his flashlight around in his hands. "Thunder isn't so scary. Thunder can't hurt you. You know why?"

Max shook his head. He smiled, long and slow. "Because thunder is just…thunder's just football." Max frowned, immediately distrustful of the explanation. "Hang on, let me just…finish." Tim hoped this would work. Max had become obsessed with the sport lately; he'd make the thunder and lightning link with it or something. Might make it easier for the kid. "You see, thunder? It's just…"

God, this was stupid. Just say it Tim. Little kids need things like this. Especially this kid. Doing dumb things for your kids was what parents did, right? So he'd do it. "It's just angels playing football," he whispered, holding his flashlight loosely in his hands, draped over his knees. He smiled at Max's immediate little brow furrow. "You see…angels? They're big. Huge. Like…gigantic."

Max smiled. "Really?"

"Yeah, really, that's why you can't see them. They can't come down from Heaven or clouds because they're so big." He continued. "And when it thunderstorms, it's because they're playing football. They get bored, so sometimes they play a lot of football. They're so big that when they tackle each other, it thunders."

"And lightning?" Max breathed, his eyes wide, holding the Bat-Signal up to his face, enamored by the conversation. He whispered. "Is it them playing again?"

Ah…lightning, what was lightning? Hell…oh, okay, yeah. "Lightning is when they get a touchdown. They celebrate and it' s just lights up in Heaven flashing." Good Lord, I almost believed myself, Tim thought, smiling slightly. Max nibbling his bottom lip, lifting his eyes up, and thinking about it. He crawled closer towards him, resting his head against Tim's knee. Tim slid down against the headboard, making sure the covers were still over his head.

Still in their little 'fort.' Away from the scariness of the outside world. Wish I could keep you like that forever, Tim thought, his arm around Max, holding him close. He flicked off his flashlight, setting it aside and lifting up Max's Bat-Signal to the 'roof' of their sheets. "You still scared?" he whispered.

Max trembled a little, but nodded slightly. "I don't like it so loud."

"Yeah, I don't like it loud either."

"Does it scare you?"

Tim shrugged, glancing down, smiling at him. "Not anymore. It used to scare me, but…I like thunderstorms." He knew Max would be shocked at that and laughed a little at the wide-eyed open-mouthed look he got. "Thunderstorms are kind of cool. You can just hang inside and watch them. Then in the morning, when they're over, everything is green and sunny and…kind of nice."

"Do the angels do that? When they're done?"

Hell, he supposed he could continue with this metaphor. "Yeah, I guess."

Max turned a little, making sure he had his head on his X-Men pillow. He looked up, his little face impassive, but Tim knew the question was coming. He shrugged, whispering. "So…so I can't get scared because…because it's just angels, right?"

"You can get scared," he whispered, stroking Max's arm, whispering. "It's okay to be scared, but…it's just something that happens and you can't change it when it does, so…so if you don't want to be scared all the time, you can think of it like angels up in Heaven. Does that make sense?" Made sense in my head, but…I'm not very good at talking to little kids.

Max nodded, whispering. "Angels are good people who died?"

"Yeah. They go to Heaven. Good people go to Heaven." Please, he almost began to beg, don't keep asking about this. I can't have this conversation with you right now. Not without your mother here.

Tim waited, fully expecting Max to continue with it, but the little boy was thinking, his brow wrinkled, a tiny frown line appearing between his eyebrows. He nibbled on his lip, but chose not to continue, instead, whispering something else Tim didn't want to get into discussing. "Where do bad people go?"

Bad people, Tim sighed, shaking his head. He watched the Bat-Signal on the roof of the sheet over their head. He wished he could just say that Batman came in and took care of them, but that wasn't real and he didn't want Max to think they were real…right now he knew they were just fake and just fun. He glanced down at Max, whispering. "Bad people go to a place…a very dark place. Beneath the ground, where the angels make sure they don't get out."

"Like…" Max trailed off, but didn't finish. He yawned, his eyes drooping. "I'm sleepy Daddy." Yeah, you should be, it's past midnight. Tim felt a bit of relief that Max didn't want to continue this conversation about good people and bad people. The thunderstorm was fading and Max was beginning to droop beside him. He flicked off the Bat-Signal, setting the flashlights on the floor and removed the sheet from over their heads.

Whoo, that was nice, now he could breathe easier. He lay on his back, with Max curled against him for the next few hours. You came in here when you were scared, he thought, smiling a little. He ran his fingers through Max's auburn hair. He looked like his mother, he thought. Kind of wish he looked like me, but…that wasn't…couldn't be.

Daddy, he smiled, liking that word. Never thought that's what a kid would call him. It was nice. To be wanted, he supposed. To be needed. You were scared and you came here, he thought again, smiling up at the ceiling. Your mother is going to like that. Hope she doesn't kill me for the philosophical discussion we just had.

At some point, Tim fell asleep, Max still cradled against him. He woke up a few hours later, feeling like someone was watching him. Turning his head slightly on the pillow, he jumped a little, staring at his girlfriend. "Seriously? Bit creepy to be watching me," he yawned, running his hand up over his hair. He glanced at the clock. He couldn't make out the number. "What time is it?"

"Early."

Yeah, what are you doing here? He blinked a few times, smiling at her. "Got an early flight?"

"As early as I could."

"Hmm…" Tim glanced at the little boy between them, smiling sheepishly. "He crawled in here last night. Got scared because of the thunder."

Lyla stroked her son's hair, her face calm. Tim liked it when it was the three of them together, but he never told her that. He figured she knew already. She blinked a few times; he saw that she was trying not to cry, tears wavering a bit in her eyes. It was still dark outside; he figured the storm system hadn't yet finished with Dillon. Guess he couldn't tell Max that the angels had finished playing their game of football yet. He touched Max's shoulder, his…his son, he told himself, hugging the X-Men pillow, and his mouth open a little, completely innocent. He's so small, he thought, his hand covering Lyla's, over Max's shoulder. "So…" Tim whispered, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "How…how was it?"

She seemed to stiffen, swallowing hard, fighting back more tears. "It was…it just was. Sad. It was sad."

"You sure you didn't want Max to go?" Guess it was too late now.

"Yeah…I just…he still doesn't understand."

I think he understands. Tim lifted his shoulder, whispering. "I think that…I think he knows, Lyla. The difference between…me and…him." He shrugged again, guessing he had to tell her about last night. She was the kid's mother after all. "Last night I told him thunder was angels playing football? Pretty dumb, huh?"

Lyla shook her head, not breaking her line of sight with him. "No, it's not. It makes it something he can understand, why do you think it's dumb?"

"Because he just…he seemed like he was going to ask about…well he asked about hell, basically, where bad people went and where good people went and I just…" Tim sighed. This was harder than he thought. He covered Max's shoulder again, looking down at him sleeping. This whole thing was hard. It all really sucked. He finished, lifting his face back to Lyla's. "I didn't know if that was something you wanted to talk to him about. He didn't ask about his dad or about…about the guy that hurt him."

She nodded, her head on the pillow, dragging her fingers around his, over Max's shoulder. Lyla waited a second, until she lifted her head back up, smiling at him. "You know that…that he thinks you're his dad, right? Because you are, you know." She licked her lips, her voice quavering and her eyes shining with tears once more. "You're his dad, Tim. He calls you Daddy, he lives in your house…he comes to you when he's scared. You have no idea how big that is…I mean…little kids are good judges of character, you know?" Yeah, I know, he thought. That's what makes this so terrifying. "And besides," she said, shrugging again. "I wouldn't have started this thing with you if I didn't believe that you weren't going to be a good father. Max already lost one to a drunk driver…he can't lose another."

Yeah. Yeah, he knew that. Knew he couldn't run away. Again, scary. Tim reached over and took her hand in his, squeezing hard. He glanced down at Max. His son, basically. He lifted his eyes back to hers. "Thank you for coming back here…you have no idea…" You have no idea how good this is, he thought, feeling his stomach kind of light on fire at the knowledge that Max…Max needed him. That feeling of being wanted and needed and…and he was just a kid. He didn't know any better. He came to me when he was scared. I'm his dad, he thought, kind of marveling at that, like he had every so often when he allowed himself to think about it. Not like I had good father role models in my life, he thought, thinking briefly of his father, wherever he may be. He glanced back at Lyla. She didn't seem to think that was a big deal. Not in the way he did.

Lyla bit on her bottom lip for a second, shaking her head and whispering. "You know...I didn't come back for you, but…I'm really glad that this all worked out in the end. Not many men are willing to take on a widow with a two-year old, but…but you did. You're a good guy and…" She smiled wide, the tears now falling from her face to the pillowcase beneath her cheek. "And I'm never more sure than of what I did before I went back to Nashville to…to check on Todd's grave and everything…"

What did you do Garrity? He cocked his head, frowning a little, but Lyla didn't say anything or move. He supposed it would have to wait. Max shifted a little between them, rolling onto his back and sitting up, his hair sticking every which way and hugging his arms around himself. He let out a little sob, confused at why he wasn't in his room, turning away from Lyla and shoving his face into Tim's chest. "Where's my bed?" he asked.

"It's in your room, come on, I'll take you." Tim lifted him up, carrying him out of his room and down the hall to what was once a guest room, but turned into Max's when the two of them moved in a couple months ago. It was a big step, one he wasn't going to let Lyla do unless she was sure, but she was and so far it was working pretty well. He set Max down in his bed, which was shaped like a racecar, and pulled the Cars quit up over his shoulders. He turned, tripping on some sort of action figure; it was common occurrence in this house. After about a year of doing it at Lyla's house and now here, he barely flinched when he stepped on whatever toy didn't make it to the Tupperware containers stacked with toys in shelves along the walls the night before.

Max turned in his bed, mumbling. "Night, night Daddy."

He glanced over his shoulder, smiling at Max. That warm feeling returned to his stomach. "See you in a couple hours," he whispered, closing the door to a crack and returning to his room, tugging on a pair of jeans and switching out the shirt he'd slept in last night with a clean one, leaving it partially unbuttoned and going downstairs in his bare feet. Where he tripped on another toy at the base of the stairs. "Damnit," he cursed, picking up the thing and reattaching Captain America's head, carrying him into the kitchen and holding it up for Lyla to see. "We have seriously got to get a dog. Otherwise, these things wouldn't be all over the place."

"No, the dog would have just eaten them, gotten sick, and there'd be dog puke everywhere with tiny bits of Captain America it."

Ew, she had a point. He set Captain America on the counter, leaning against it, nodding towards some paperwork she was setting out on the countertop. "What's all that?"

"What I said earlier. I had them prepared before I went back to Nashville, to clean up the grave and…and see Todd's parents and all that…" Lyla folded her hands over the papers, stapled to blue backing. Like a legal document. She smiled, shrugging her shoulders. "I was worried bout it before, but…after what you said last night, about him getting scared and coming to you when I'm not here…he already calls you Daddy and…and I just…" Lyla turned the document towards him, setting a pen beside his hand, her voice quiet. "Think about it. I know we're not married and we haven't even discussed it, but…I think…I think that this will be good." She swallowed hard, her voice dropping. "I know you worry about it…you worry about things…you didn't have a great dad, but…but that doesn't mean anything with you." She looked up, her voice a little stronger and her head held high. "And if you don't want it, well that's fine too, but…I'll just leave you with that. Make up your mind." She turned around and walked away, leaving him with the papers.

What was she talking about? His father? He frowned and sat back on one of the barstools, holding the paper in his hand and staring at the bold letters off to the side, in the 'caption.' He remembered seeing papers like this with his name on it, under 'Defendant.' There was nothing like that on this.

_PETITION FOR ADOPTION_

Adoption. Oh. Now he understood. She wanted him…he went kind of blank, his mind kind of leaving his body and looking down as he read through the legalese, which requested that the state of Texas give him legal and custodial rights to Maxwell Garrity Newman, a minor child belonging to Lyla Garrity-Newman and her deceased husband Todd Newman. She outlined her reasons why and had signed it at the bottom, along with a lawyer. There was a spot for his name too. "Petitioning Parent."

Just don't think about it, he thought, closing his eyes. Parent. Hell…did he think he was ready for something like this? Hell no. He just…he reached to the side and picked up the pen she'd left, and without thinking of anything, because quite honestly, he was tired of overthinking things and…and well his issues with his father were long put away and this wasn't about that at all. This was him and Max, who didn't have one and…he tapped the pen to the page, scribbling his name in the blank signature box, and folded the papers back, before he slipped them into Lyla's bag.

Wow. I feel no different, he thought, his hands slightly tighter in his lap, over his knees. He looked out the window, where Lyla was on the porch, looking out over the land with a cup of coffee in her hands. You trust me on this, so I guess I'm going to trust you now, he thought, looking at his hands again. Dad. Most people had time to prepare. He'd kind of just wandered into it, like he had most things in his life.

He looked up as Max wandered into the kitchen, almost right on time. He smiled a little, whispering. "Thought you were going to sleep more?"

The little boy shrugged, climbing up into the seat beside him, folding his hands in front of him. He looked up, quiet and waiting. A few minutes later, he spoke. "I want waffles," he announced.

"Go get the mix, you know where it is."

"Can you make them like dinosaurs again?"

It's possible, he thought, shrugging and leaning against the counters. It would be messy. He sucked at it and half the time they just looked like blobs. "Depends. What are you going to give me in return?" This is a quid pro quo situation here kid.

Max cocked his head, thinking about it as he walked back from the pantry with the box of waffle mix. "Um…" He looked up, smiling wide and threw his hands into the air. "Me!"

"You!"

"Me!" Max giggled, climbing back up and wrapping his arms around his neck. He looked pensive. "Where's Mommy?"

"She's outside, let's give her a minute." It had been three years since a drunk driver killed Todd on his way home from work. It wasn't a big deal with him, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew that Lyla was madly in love with Todd. If he'd lived, they'd still be married, living in their fancy house in Nashville, living their happy upper-middle class lives. But fate had other plans, and when Todd had been coming home from work one evening, he'd been broadsided by a drunk driver and killed instantly. Lyla's world was rocked so hard she moved back home to Dillon to raise her son. He hadn't known what to do, just that she was so sad and there was this little kid that didn't have a dad. It wasn't fair. So…so he started helping her.

Going over in the evenings with dinner and he fixed up her house, which had been falling apart. He fixed her car and he took Max to school while she worked. Babysat him while she started tentatively going out on dates with guys she'd met at work, about a year later, and then before he knew it, they were the ones going on a date and Max was inseparable from him and then they moved in and he was starting to call him Dad. It all worked out.

That had been terrifying, but he guessed it wasn't so bad. He loved Max. I'm not my father, he thought, picking Max up into his arms, swinging him up into the air, before settling him in the crook of his elbow. At one point, he'd been about to rabbit, but Coach Taylor had been around at the time and flat out told him that it wasn't blood that necessarily made you who you were and that it wasn't going to be his bad experiences with fathers that would influence Max. It would be everyone else. Like Buddy or Billy. Like you, he'd said, to Coach's embarrassment. In any case, he took that advice seriously.

Now it was all kind of coming to a point, he thought, no longer really thinking of the papers in Lyla's bag. That was formality. He took the waffle mix from Max and walked over to the cupboard to get down the things necessary to make waffles. Max turned his head, smiling. "I'm not scared anymore."

Scared? "You're not?"

"Nope."

There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance; Tim felt Max stiffen slightly in his arms. Well maybe a little, he thought, rubbing Max's back comfortingly before he reached over to open up the box of waffle mix. It was kind of funny, but in the last year with this kid, he'd learned really fast how to do things one-handed because you were usually busy holding the kid with the other. He glanced over his shoulder at Lyla, who was removing the papers from her bag. His heart pounded in his chest, watching as she didn't say anything when she glanced at his signature. She didn't say anything, just smiled, and returned them back to a folder.

Well that was that; he didn't expect her to make a big deal. He picked up the whisk, passing it to Max, whispering. "You don't have to be scared."

The little boy smiled again. "Why not?"

"Because." Tim poured waffle mix into a bowl, not measuring; he never measured. He went over to the fridge, whispering to Max. "You got me, right?" That's why you're not scared, huh? Kind of scary.

"You're like an X-Men."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Which X-Men?"

"Gambit."

That was pretty fast, Tim thought, chuckling. He handed Max the milk and reached in to get out eggs, handing them to Max to hold and walking back over to the counter. "Well thanks, but…superheroes aren't real."

"Yes they are." Well, they weren't going to be able to get that out of his head anytime soon, so Tim let it go. He set about making the waffles with Max helping, and glancing out the window as the next thunderstorm rolled in. Max didn't flinch once. And come to think of it, Tim thought, smiling down at his son, neither did he.

THE END


End file.
